


Foreplay

by Bullfinch



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Binge Drinking, M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-27
Updated: 2015-09-27
Packaged: 2018-04-23 17:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4885099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bullfinch/pseuds/Bullfinch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian and Bull's first "ill-considered night after drinking."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foreplay

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: All those things Dorian says about the Inquisitor being possibly his “only friend” always make me wonder what happens to Dorian if the Inquisitor decides not to be his friend. Which is the case here.
> 
> Written and posted all in a few hours.

“Damn. I’m out.” Bull folds another hand and takes a long pull of ale.

“And another one falls.” Varric grins across the table. “How about you, Buttercup? You ready to give in?”

“Psh! As if!”

Sera’s bluffing. Varric…might be. Bull caught himself before he started picking it apart. He tries not to use the Ben-Hassrath training during Wicked Grace but it’s something he has to actively turn off, and sometimes he forgets, or he just isn’t fast enough. During the hands when he thinks it’s giving him an unfair advantage, he folds. Even, like now, when he has three chevaliers and a pair of marchionesses.

Blackwall sweats at his cards, trying to decide whether or not to stay in. Now  _there’s_  a man who bluffs. Spends most of his days at it. He’s not the worst liar Bull’s ever met, but he doesn’t have the taint. Bull’s seen Wardens. They all walk like they’ve got some giant bloodsucking insect latched to their spine. Not Blackwall.

But he seems like a good guy, and Bull figures he’ll straighten things out in his own time. Another pull of ale. It’s been a long day of traveling, and Bull’s not in the mood for a headache tomorrow, so he’s taking it easy tonight—nothing heavy, just this human stuff that he can drink for hours and all it’ll give him is a nice friendly buzz in the back of his head. He realizes he’s watching Blackwall and stops. Not supposed to be looking for tells. To avoid temptation he turns his chair so he’s facing the bar.

Where Dorian is drinking.

No one cozying up to him. No one eyeing him with anything besides suspicion or mild distaste. That’s good, at least. Dorian drinks to forget, but there are plenty of things a man can do to forget, and some of them have aftereffects that last longer than a hangover.

Maybe it’s chance, or maybe Dorian gets the sense someone’s watching him. Either way, he looks over.

For a minute Bull holds his gaze. Thinks vaguely of going over and saying something to him.  _There’s assholes everywhere. It’s not on you._  But the humiliation of being comforted by a Qunari might hit him just the wrong way tonight, and Bull’s not looking to make things worse.

“I can’t believe you fell for it again!” Varric crows, laying out his hand. It’s trash. Blackwall groans, sitting back as Varric sweeps up the pile of coins in the middle of the table. Sera spits out a long list of curses. Bull still can’t quite get a handle on her, but he has to admire her creativity. Even he can’t swear that well.

He sticks around for a couple of more hands, but he finds himself folding both of them because he keeps picking up on tells. Too tired to play this game the right way. “I’m gonna head upstairs.” He stands and stretches, his fingers brushing the ceiling.

Varric nods sagely. “Must be tiring watching me take all your money.”

Bull grins in response. But he comes over, leans against the table as Varric’s shuffling. “Hey.”

The dwarf glances up. “Hm?”

“Keep an eye on the Vint for me, would you?”

Varric taps the deck on the tabletop. “Not a problem.”

Good. Then he can head upstairs guilt-free. He hides a yawn behind his three-fingered hand as he crosses the tavern.

His room is small and his feet hang off the bed. The steward apologized, but Bull doesn’t mind. After going through Seheron and then with the Chargers through the worst parts of Orlais, Nevarra, and the Anderfels, anything with a roof is a luxury. He pours himself a cup of water to stave off tomorrow’s hangover and gazes out the window at the courtyard as he drinks it. A familiar view. That part’s weird. The only constant in his life to this point has been the Chargers—he had the Qun up until a couple of weeks ago, but that’s fucked now. So Skyhold becoming this place he returns to again and again…it’s weird. But not in a bad way.

The sound of the knock starts him out of his undirected swirl of thoughts. Bull sets down his cup and goes to answer, pulling the door open. “Yeah, what do you—crap.”

Dorian slides in before Bull can stop him—Vints are slippery fuckers, and this one’s no exception. “Mm. So this is where you live? My goodness, how do you fit?”

“Dorian.” Bull shuts the door, grimacing. The damn dwarf was supposed to prevent this kind of crap. “I think you should really go back to your room.”

“But why? Yours is so inviting.” He lowers himself to the bed, lounging. He is  _very_  drunk.

And very pretty, with those lidded eyes, that lazy smile. But that’s a distant thought right now, just one more piece of information that ratchets down with the rest of them. “Yeah. Listen, you shouldn’t be here. What you need right now is to sleep this off. By yourself.”

“Bull. Iron Bull.  _The_  Iron Bull.” Dorian uncoils and stands, sidling up to him. “Kicking me out of your bed? You’re so… _cruel.”_

“Hey—“ Bull tries to grab him to keep him away, but he slides out—slippery fucking Vints—and twines himself around Bull’s body. Athletically. Bull discovers he smells  _really_  good. What are those scents? Sandalwood, jasmine, that thick-skinned citrus fruit they grow on the north shores of Tevinter. Seheron, too. He used to burn the groves, acres and acres of them.  _“Dorian.”_  Bull finally gets a hand on him and holds him away. “I mean it. I’m not fucking you like this. Go get some sleep.”

Dorian seems to sag a little, the sultry mischief going out of his eyes in favor of hurt. Damn _._  That’s not going to make things any better. “Fine,” he mumbles, shaking Bull off. “I suppose I’ll have to go find someone else. They can’t all have such high standards.” He stumbles for the door, grasps the handle.

Crap. “Wait—“

Dorian turns, arching one perfect eyebrow.

There are plenty of men in Skyhold who’d fuck him like this—some innocuously, some not so much. Not that it matters which kind he runs into. He shouldn’t be fucking anyone right now. But he’s sure as shit not going to take Bull’s advice on that. Bull grimaces. He’s trying to get out of the habit of lying, but at least there’s a good reason here. “Maybe you should stay after all.”

Dorian lets out a giggle. “Couldn’t resist, could you? Hardly surprising. I am  _irresistible.”_  He strips his shirt off with more agility than Bull’s ever seen from someone that drunk, then plasters himself over Bull’s body again. “Going to  _conquer_  me, Qunari?” He starts to shimmy out of his trousers—

“No, no—“ Bull grabs the waistband and hikes them back up again. “Keep those on.”

Dorian gazes up, perplexed. “Are you sure? There’s so much more you haven’t seen yet.“

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Bull says, with haste. “Wanna show you something. Foreplay. Qunari foreplay.”

“Oh?” Dorian’s eyes sparkle with lively interest. “Sounds… _daring.”_

“Oh yeah, it’s kinky. Here, lie down.” Bull separates himself from Dorian and pulls the covers back.

Dorian slinks forward and arranges himself on the bed. Yeah, he’s  _really_  pretty. Could probably stand to eat more, though—a few too many ribs showing. Bull motions. “Turn over.”

So Dorian obeys, flipping on his stomach, arching a little. And he’s got a great ass—those trousers don’t leave a whole lot to the imagination. Bull sits beside him. “Now close your eyes and relax.”

Dorian shuts his eyes, settling into the pillow.

Bull reaches down and starts rubbing his back.

Nothing special, just slow, wide circles. Dorian lets out a contented sigh. “Your hands are so  _large.”_

Bull cracks a grin at that. “Yeah, well, Qunari hands usually are.”

“Should I be doing anything? I’m not familiar with this style of—“

“Just relax. It’s  _really_  important, otherwise this won’t work.”

“Relax. Right. I can do that.”

Bull continues rubbing his bare skin, never varying in pattern or pace. Patience is a Ben-Hassrath skill, and he has plenty of it. Dorian’s back is soft and a little hot, rising and falling gently under Bull's palm, slower and slower.

Finally Bull ventures a quiet “Still with me?”

No response. Good. Bull exhales in relief, gazing down at Dorian’s sleeping form. He looks peaceful now, the undercurrent of desperation gone from his face. That’s the immediate problem taken care of. The rest will have to wait til morning. Annoyed with himself, he realizes he didn’t leave much room when he asked Dorian to lie down. But there’s enough, barely. He reclines, holding his elbows in, shifting up so his horns don’t jab Dorian in the face. His heels almost reach the edge of the bed. He’s tired and drops off pretty fast—rode almost straight through from dawn until their arrival at Skyhold, with the sun just dipping down behind the Frostbacks. It’s been a long day.

During the night he’s startled awake from another Seheron dream by the sensation of something crawling over him. He nearly sits straight up before he discovers it’s just Dorian, draping himself over Bull’s chest with a sleepy mumble. Bull lies there frozen for a moment. Should he push the guy off? Nah, doesn’t want to risk waking him up and having him bolt, not when he’s probably still drunk.

So instead Bull settles down again and shuts his eyes.

——

When he wakes again it’s morning.

There’s a tightness at the base of his skull, and the sunlight seeks it right out. But the pain’s minor, and should fade fast if he deals with it.

A rustling to his left. He props himself up on an elbow.

Dorian’s sitting on the edge of the bed. Now  _that’s_  got to be a nasty hangover. “Bull. Good morning. I must admit my memory’s a little hazy, but I’m sure we had an invigorating night—“

Bull cuts him off. “We didn’t fuck, Dorian.”

Dorian looks over his shoulder, bemused, then lets out a high, brittle laugh. “Yes, of course,  _that’s_  why I woke half-naked on top of you—“

“We didn’t. You were drunk. Wouldn’t’ve been right.”

“Is that—let me  _assure_  you, you would not be the first partner I’ve sought out after one too many glasses of wine.“

Bull grunts. “Still not right. When you’re drunk you get confused. Your partner does something you don’t like, you can’t say no. Shouldn’t be like that. So I…lied to keep you from going off and looking for someone else. Sorry.”

Dorian is frowning in thought, as if assembling his memories. “Did you—rub my back to send me to sleep?”

Bull chuckles. “Yeah. And it worked.”

“I remember that. It…felt rather nice.” He presses his fingers to his temples.

Right. Bull stands. “Let me go get something for that hangover. You’re not gonna run off while I’m gone, are you?”

“Oh, no. I might stagger, perhaps. Weave a bit.”

“I mean it.”

He waves an impatient hand. “Yes, yes, I’ll stay.”

Bull heads downstairs. It’s early yet, and there are just a few soldiers here, eating breakfast. He goes behind the bar to the kitchen. First the tea, in its usual spot, the covered basket of dried mint leaves mixed with just a hint of elfroot. Bull takes a generous pinch and throws it into one of the row of kettles suspended over the fire, then takes the entire kettle. The handle burns his palm. Then he plucks a mug from the shelf. Might be able to sneak away before—

A voice behind him. “Is that one of our kettles?”

Or not. He turns. “Yeah, uh, sorry. I kinda need it.”

“Long as you bring it back.” The barkeep holds something out. “Here, Varric wanted this to get to you.”

A note. Bull flips it open with one hand.  _Sorry, Tiny, he wouldn’t take no for an answer. Figured your hands were as safe as any._ He stuffs the scrap of paper in his pocket and goes back up.

Dorian is still there, which Bull had thought might not be the case; but he’s kept his word. He sits hunched at the edge of the bed, his heels of his hands pressed to his eyes, but he looks up at the door swinging open. “Oh. My apologies. I had meant to clothe myself before you returned.”

Even though there’s a faint sheen of sweat on his back. “Really?” Bull sets down the kettle. Might char the table. Oh well. “It’s warm in here in the mornings. Window faces east. Plus the tea’s hot.”

No reply.

“It’s fine, Dorian.” Bull folds his arms. “You had a crap day yesterday. Or maybe you didn’t, it doesn’t matter. You don’t have to feel ashamed in front of me.”

Dorian tips his head back. “How do  _you_  do it? You’re Qunari. You’re supposed to be even worse than we are. Yet everyone loves you.”

‘We’ being Vints. “It’s not the same,” Bull says. “I came in with the Chargers. Ragtag group who didn’t have anywhere else to go. People feel for that kind of thing. So they already have that before they get to me. But you came down alone. Don’t have a group of mercenaries to vouch for you, gotta do all that work yourself. ’S a lot for just one guy.”

“So you’re saying I should go adopt a scraggly band of adventurers and let  _them_  spread the word that I’m not actually a murderous, soul-sucking maleficar?”

Bull half-grins. “I don’t think it’ll be that easy.”

“Yes, I was afraid not.”

He shifts, leaning against the wall. “So what happened yesterday?”

Dorian heaves a long, quiet sigh. “Nothing in particular, I don’t think. I suppose it had all had just…worn me down. I’ve been trying to deal with it on my own, but…”

“Drinking’s faster.”

“Yes.”

Bull grunts. “You talked to anyone about this before?”

Dorian puts on a mirthless smile. “Are you trying to fix my little problem? Thought you’d take pity on the poor lonely Tevinter?”

Bull narrows his eyes. “You want my help or not? Because I’m offering.”

“All right, I’m sorry. No, I haven’t spoken about this before.”

“Okay. Here’s my advice: stop drinking.”

“Of  _course!_ Why didn’t I think of that?“

“I mean make that decision. You have to  _want_  to stop. You ever get in a crap mood again, come down to the Herald’s Rest, talk to me, or the Chargers if I’m not here. We’ll start up a round of cards. Maybe it takes your mind off things long enough so you feel better.”

Dorian snorts. “I’m not sure the Chargers like me much better than anyone else. Krem in particular was Soporati, wasn’t he?”

“They get it. I’ll talk to them, but they get it.” Bull pushes off the wall and goes to pour the tea.

“Out of curiosity—why are you doing this again?”

The handle of the kettle isn’t quite so hot now. “You’re a good guy. That’s not hard to tell.” He hands Dorian the mug. “I only know two good Vints. Shame to see one of them getting buried in everyone else’s crap.”

Dorian takes a sip of tea. “I should thank you, I suppose. For keeping me here last night. Sometimes things turn out well, but sometimes…less so.”

“Yeah, well. Like I said, sorry for lying.” He fills his own cup. Time to chase away that tightness at the back of his skull.

“No need to worry, it’s forgiven.” Dorian takes another sip. “Hm. Odd aftertaste.”

“That’s the elfroot. It works, though.”

They sit in silence for a while, drinking tea. Must be a relief for Dorian. Hangovers don’t usually play nice with talking. When Dorian’s finished he gazes into the bottom of his cup. “Would you mind if I…stayed here for a bit, before I go back to my quarters?”

Bull comes over with the kettle and refills his mug. “Sounds good to me. Come on, you’re sitting there like you’re about to fall off.”

A moment later and they’re both lying back on the bed, the pillows piled behind them. It’s nice, even with the sun pouring bright and full through the window. Dorian’s shoulder is pressed up against Bull’s, and his skin is hot. (Still got that scent on him. Sandalwood and jasmine.) But he’s relaxed, finally, his verbosity returning, and he talks with his hands, or at least the one not holding his tea.

“I don’t think I’ve apologized, by the way,” he says, halfway into his third cup. “For rubbing myself all over you last night. Rather indecorous of me.”

Bull chuckles. “You’re not the first, Dorian. Doesn’t bother me.”

“And for sleeping on top of you. We’re both incredibly fortunate I didn’t drool all over your chest.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time for that either.”

A deep sigh. “Does  _anything_ bother you?”

“Fact that you get so much crap you have to drink that much just to get out from under it. That’s not great.”

“Oh. Well. That’s kind of you to say.”

“And that guys’ll fuck you when you come to them drunk.  _That_  bothers me.” He grunts and concentrates on damping his anger so he doesn’t shatter his empty cup.

“I suppose I hadn’t really thought about it,” Dorian says quietly.

The sun climbs higher, the shadow of the crossbars over the window inching across the bed. Dorian sits up, stretching, fishing his shirt off the floor. “Thank you for that tea. It really does work wonders.”

Bull stays where he is. He’s gotten comfortable. “They have it stashed away in the kitchens. It’s supposed to be expensive, but the barkeep likes me.”

Dorian opens the door but lingers there for a moment, caught in the threshold. “In a purely hypothetical capacity.”

“Hm?”

“If I showed up here one of these evenings in good spirits and  _completely_  sober, knocking at your door.” He lifts an inquiring eyebrow. “How would you react then?”

Bull grins at him. “I wouldn’t turn you away.”


End file.
